


Not Good, Not Bad, but Sure as Hell Ain't a Loser

by Shangalangalang



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Genji is a Little Shit, Looooots of alcohol, M/M, Porn With Plot, and ends up in everyone's snapchat, hanzo is deadass that one guy who drinks more than he can handle, jesse mccree confirmed frat boy, meanwhile mccree can drink 3 bottles of straight hennessy and still be sober enough to drive a car, passes out in front of the bars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 05:58:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8737465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shangalangalang/pseuds/Shangalangalang
Summary: Jesse McCree is a lot of things- cowboy, gentleman, gunslinger with a hint of egotistical arrogance- but he is not a loser. Beneath his happy-go-lucky attitude lies a man who hates losing to anyone. And for a while, he never really did. That is, until Hanzo Shimada came along and ruined everything. The only way to redeem his reputation? Challenge him to a drinking game, of course.





	

Jesse McCree was anything but a loser.

 

Everyone in Overwatch knew- whether they had been in the organization long enough or not did not matter. Beneath the visage of a lax, happy-go-lucky cowboy was a man who had immense pride and confidence instilled within himself- and maybe just a little bit of a superiority complex. Granted, his reckless behavior and mannerisms often landed him in unnecessary situations with the enemy, especially in the battlefield when he decides to get cocky and test out different shot angles that make no sense, but it made him who he was. Jesse McCree did not lose.

 

He always welcomed new recruits with a firm handshake- a grip so strong you’d think he was trying to let you know your place instead of truly embracing you with open arms. But he was genuine. He genuinely welcomed fresh meat, because, admittedly, it was just another person to help continue challenging and building his ego. And of course, new friends were always welcomed.

 

And yes, he had been called an egotistical asshole on more than one occasion, by multiple people. All out of good nature, of course.

 

Ever since he was little, he had been fiercely competitive in everything he did. He never lost in anything- whether it be arm wrestling, shootouts, or even trivial things such as eating competitions, he knew deep down in his heart that he was capable of accepting and subsequently conquering any challenge that was thrown his way. Of course, he knew his own limits- he’d never ask Reinhardt or Zarya to a lifting contest, nor would Reinhardt or Zarya ever use their strengths as a means to challenge others. But McCree was never one to back down from a good ol’ challenge, because he knew he’d win some way or another. It was just part of his nature. He couldn’t help being so fiercely competitive. He wasn’t good, he wasn’t bad. But he sure as Hell wasn’t a loser.

 

That is, until Hanzo Shimada came along.

 

Where the Hell had he even come from?

 

The day McCree met Hanzo, he knew something was off about the man. In fact, McCree was one of the warier members of Overwatch- he couldn’t understand exactly why everyone went out of their way to be exceptionally kind to the brooding archer. He knew exactly what the older Shimada was capable of, if Genji was anything to go by. Which is why initially, he attempted to avoid interaction with Hanzo at all costs. This proved to be immensely difficult considering they often collided into one another in the training grounds due to the similarity of their weapons. Of course, the collision led to observance, observance led to realization, and what McCree suggested casually one day was nothing short of a challenge in terms of who had the better aim. Guns, bows, they’re all part of the same family. Long range, stealthy, deadly. McCree was confident, of course. He was the fastest, most accurate hand in the West. But clearly it didn’t spread to the East.

 

Hanzo beat him.

 

After that fateful day, Hanzo single-handedly managed to knock McCree down a few pegs in the span of the few months he spent in Overwatch. For some damned reason or another, the archer seemed to beat McCree in every single aspect of life- and it ranged from the smallest things to things McCree had never been bested in before. And he seemed to take joy in doing so. Whether it be who could eat more food in a given amount of time, land the most bull’s-eyes in the shooting range, take down more enemies in the field, cook the better dinner, or run the faster mile, Hanzo somehow managed to surpass McCree in everything.

 

He even wielded Peacekeeper better than McCree did.

 

When confronted, Hanzo would simple give a knowing smirk and a condescending remark, something along the lines of:

 

“Perhaps you should know your place, cowboy.” or, “Better luck next time, McCree.” or, “I suppose it is simply because I am superior to you in every way.”

 

Every damn time. Like he knew the blows he was throwing towards McCree’s pride.

 

It irritated McCree to no end.

 

And that was what landed them in this situation.

 

“Chug, chug, chug!”

 

McCree resorted to the thing he knew best- alcohol. Officially, Overwatch called it a “team-building exercise”- but in reality, they would use their funds once in a while (okay, every weekend) to buy a bunch of alcohol and get smashed in the bar located under the base (built at the request of Reinhardt). It was an excuse for them to wind down after a stressful week- but it was more of an excuse for McCree to stage the showdown in which he would finally show Hanzo up.

 

It was a well-known fact that no one in Overwatch could beat McCree at drinking. You would think Reinhardt or Jack had the most tolerance out of anyone, but they were the very definitions of “not judging a book by its cover”. In fact, even Angela could outdrink Jack. He was the most lightweight next to Mei and Hana, the latter who steered clear of the alcohol in favor of her Mountain Dew-cherry syrup hybrid she dared to call a Shirley Temple. He never lost a keg stand, a game of pong, a game of flip cup, or simply downing the most number of shots without dying. And he never once got hung over. He was destined to be a frat boy- had he ever gone to college. Whether he had God on his side or simply better genetics, McCree knew that he could probably inject alcohol straight through his veins and he’d still be in better shape than most others.

 

Which was what got him to this point in the first place.

 

Lúcio, Reinhardt, Torbjörn, Jack, Hana, Mei, Fareeha, and even Satya and Zarya chant “Chug” at McCree, who downs his fifth bottle of beer. Hanzo is close behind, and the two men slam their bottles down on the wooden table at the same time. Angela is sipping a small glass of wine with Genji and Zenyatta on standby, massaging her temples, knowing deep in her soul that at least one man tonight would die of severe alcohol poisoning.

 

“Tired yet, archer?” McCree drawls, satisfied at the alcoholic flush setting on Hanzo’s face. For once, the man is wearing casual attire- a sight McCree would consider for sore eyes. It was strange to see the normally regal man in a plain, black, and tight v-neck and jeans. But it was also a very welcoming view, so McCree didn’t complain. The main difference was that his usual ponytail was gone, replaced with a very rare sighting of his inky black hair worn down- certainly not the worst thing to set his eyes on.

 

“Not a chance, gunslinger,” Hanzo replies casually, reaching for the sixth bottle that night. He clearly isn’t the soberest man on Earth at that very moment, but he certainly isn’t the drunkest. Beer was never enough to put him down, and it never will be. He prepares to chug another round of Budweiser before he hears clunking coming toward him.

 

“ _Anija_ , perhaps you should stop,” Genji interrupts sternly, walking over to Hanzo and putting an arm around his brother’s shoulder, seemingly concerned. The group silences.

 

Hanzo glances at Genji, who pauses for a moment before whipping out the tequila from under the table.

 

“Stop this child’s play, and get to the really good shit.” Genji didn’t even get to finish his sentence properly before the group erupted into another round of yelling and whooping. Somewhere in the distance, Angela is calculating the amount of stomach pumps she will need to flush the alcohol out of their systems. McCree simply grins.

 

“Now _that’s_ the shit I like.” he declares, taking the bottle from Genji with his right hand, and accepting two shot glass offerings from Lúcio with his left. “Don Julio, just the way Mamá used to get it- straight from 1942.”

 

“Ah, foolish man, ever the chatter, and not enough experience to confirm your words,” Hanzo chuckles, evidently in a good mood from all the alcohol in his system. The group releases a plethora of “oh”’s, and Hana asks if McCree feels the burn, Snapchatting every single snippet of the night.

 

“’S that another challenge I hear?” McCree pours the shots. “’Cause to me, that right there? Sounded like a real bona fide challenge, if I’ve ever heard any.”

 

“If by challenge you mean another embarrassment for yourself, then yes, here is a challenge for you.” Hanzo takes the shot in his hand and raises it.

 

“May the best man down the most shots, then,” McCree clicks their shots together before downing the stinging alcohol. He hates the initial burn it brings to his nose and throat, but relishes in the aftereffects of the warm feeling he gets in his stomach. Hanzo takes it slightly worse, grimace plastered to his face, to which McCree smiles smugly at.

 

“Don’ tell me this is too much for ya,” McCree quickly pours another shot, still unaffected. “I’d be disappointed if this was all it took to do you in.”

 

Hanzo glares at him, shoving his glass forward. “You insult me, if you think this is my limit.”

 

“I don’ think, I know.” McCree smirks as he fills Hanzo’s cup.

 

“Clearly you are misinformed.” Hanzo rolls his eyes.

 

Four shots later, however, Hanzo is clearly gone.

 

McCree feels pride swell up in his chest. He’s way past the point of tipsy, but seeing how wasted Hanzo is has instilled an ego like no other. The Shimada is slumped in his chair, leaning backwards with one arm covering his eyes. The group yells for McCree to down one last shot to solidify his victory.

 

“With this,” McCree raises his fifth shot glass with pride as Reinhardt recites the champion’s speech. “Jesse McCree will hereby by decreed as the man with the most tolerance in Overwatch, and will keep his title as reigning champion.”

 

Hanzo groans softly as McCree downs his last shot with practiced ease. Everyone cheers and claps, which only adds to the impending headache that will inevitably catch up with him tomorrow morning. The crowd disperses just as quickly as it formed, now that their prime source of entertainment has been cut, and the members of Overwatch split off into smaller drinking groups to enjoy the rest of their nights.

 

Defeated fair and square, he glares at McCree for a split second before giving a sigh of resignation.

 

“I suppose…you deserve some sort of recognition, cowman,” he admits, attempting to get on his feet and extend his hand simultaneously as a sign of peace, which fails miserably. He stumbles, and falls back into his chair, disoriented and very, very drunk. McCree is alarmed. Genji rushes to his brother’s side.

 

“You really pushed it this time, brother,” Genji comments as he attempts to sling his brother up. Hanzo gives a soft groan, gone off the far end at this point. Genji seems to struggle under his brother’s weight. McCree notices, stands, and saunters over to the two.

 

“ _Anija,_ you are making a fool out of yourself.”

 

“Un…unhand me, Genji, I must show that man that he’s not all that he thinks himself…himself to be.” Hanzo is speaking incoherently, and his sentences make no sense at all. He was just beginning to admit defeat a few seconds ago, but he was now in a fighting mood- an alarming sign of intoxication.

 

Genji shakes his head apologetically at McCree. “I am sorry on his behalf. But as drunk as he is, my brother tends to sober up very quickly, so…”

 

“Hey, s’ alright, I got him.” McCree says, just before Genji lets go of his grip on Hanzo. He lurches forward into McCree’s arms. “’M the one who made him like this, might as well take responsibility, right?” he winks. Genji cocks his head to the side quizzically.

 

“Are you sure, McCree?” he asks, uneasy. Hanzo seems to be completely dead to the world, McCree’s strong hands gripping his arms and holding him steady. “I do not wish to burden you with a drunkard.”

 

“It ain’t no bother. Said so yourself that he’ll sober up soon? I’ll hold ya to that. Jus’ go an’ enjoy your night, bud, I got this.” McCree waves. Genji considers this for a moment, before shrugging and walking away.

 

“Have fun then,” Genji mutters under his breath as he walks off, just loud enough for McCree to hear. The man chuckles- like anything with Hanzo would ever constitute as fun- as he lifts Hanzo, bridal style, and clomps to his room.

 

It takes a while, especially with Hanzo being basically dead weight against his body, but somehow the gunslinger manages to lug the drunk archer all the way to his room. McCree manages to nudge open his door with just his foot, and thanks his lucky stars he remembered to leave it slightly ajar in case he was too disoriented to turn a knob after a night of alcoholic happiness. He stumbles into his room, and places Hanzo as gently as he can on his bed- which isn’t gentle at all. Hanzo all but flops onto the soft mattress.

 

Now that they are alone, McCree can properly revel in his victory. Finally, after months of nothing but defeat and cocky smirks thrown his way, he could say that he managed to beat Hanzo in something. Granted, it was one victory out of many failures, but McCree held pride in each and every single thing he did. That pride may or may not have been the reason he had such a big bounty on his head.

 

He wishes Hanzo was conscious, just so that he could gloat. But Hanzo looks to be on the verge of unresponsiveness, muffled groans escaping his mouth every once in a while. But even drunk off his ass, Hanzo looks attractive- something McCree doesn’t understand. He’d been recorded drunk before by various members, and it wasn’t something he was proud of. But Hanzo seems almost at peace with himself, if not a tad flushed- a surprisingly good look for his complexion. Various strands of hair are splayed at his face, but frame his angular face in an aesthetically pleasing manner.

 

McCree whistles softly. He can’t deny that he has checked out Hanzo more than once or twice, even considered courting him at some point, had Hanzo not been so preoccupied with his demons that it affected his everyday demeanor. But as infuriating as the man tended to be, his attractiveness wasn’t something that was up for debate. The archer was practically gorgeous for someone of his age, and anyone could see that. He had overheard some of the ladies gossiping about the men of Overwatch, and agreed with the some of their sentiments- that Hanzo was indeed “hot”, “cool”, and “mysterious, but that adds to his charm”. Of course, he’d never admit it to anyone but himself.

 

An hour passes by, and McCree finds that he cannot rip his eyes away from the sleeping man.

 

He outstretches his prosthetic hand, putting his fingers gingerly against Hanzo’s skin. He is willing to bet that the cool touch of the metal feels good against his hot face. Hanzo seems to respond to the difference in temperature, as he nuzzles against McCree’s hand, causing the latter to start. Hanzo turns to his side, slowly opening his eyes. Guess Genji was right, Hanzo did seem to be a hell of a lot more sober than he was sixty minutes ago. He wouldn’t blame Hanzo if he had a severe headache right about now.

 

“Hey there,” McCree tries to regain his composure as Hanzo drunkenly registers the situation. “You doin’ okay? We drank a lot back there.”

 

Hanzo doesn’t hesitate when he grabs McCree by the collar of his red flannel, effectively pulling him onto the bed with him. McCree falls on top of Hanzo, bracing his arms on either side of Hanzo’s head.

 

“Jesus-“ McCree yelps as he lands carefully so that he doesn’t completely crush the man under him, who is still stirring.

 

‘Must think I’m here to assassinate him or somethin’,’ he thinks to himself as Hanzo gazes up at him, eyes glazed and unfocused. Genji told him that Hanzo didn’t hesitate to shoot him at their encounter at Hanamura, even before completely confirming if Genji was an assassin or not, out of sheer habit. McCree tries to calm his rapidly beating heart as Hanzo releases his grip on McCree’s collar. He racks his brain for something clever and casual to say, something that won’t convey his rattled nerves.

 

“Hey, darlin’,” McCree smiles, ever the actor. “You didn’ look so good, so I brought you here.”

 

It takes a moment for Hanzo to register McCree’s words. He looks lost, but then regains his composure.

 

“Ugh,” he finally groans, feeling the headache.  

 

“This…This is not my room.” Hanzo tries, seemingly struggling to find the words.

 

“’S right,” McCree replies, amused.

 

Hanzo looks to the window. “It is dark out already.”

 

“Well, you’re not wrong.”

 

“Did I…did I lose? The drinking challenge, I mean.” he asks, hoping for a negative. McCree can’t help but grin wider.

 

“Yup.” It’s a shit-eating grin, but a hard-earned one.

 

“Ah.” Hanzo manages to glower at McCree despite his hazy consciousness. “And…you’re on top of me, why?”

 

“I dunno,” McCree says. “You tell me.”

 

Hanzo stares at McCree, who leans in closer instinctively.

 

“McCree,” Hanzo says, almost warningly.

 

“What’s up?” McCree feigns innocence. Hanzo is not fooled by his acting.

 

“You’re drunk.” Hanzo states, lucid enough to know where this was headed.

 

“’S been an hour, an’ I have a fast metabolism.” McCree shrugs. He knew exactly where this was going as well, but he also knew that it was too late to stop.

 

“And I, as well.” Hanzo acknowledges.

 

“And you know what else?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“You’re so damned infuriating.” McCree mutters darkly.

 

“Mm.” Hanzo pauses as McCree brushes stray hairs away from his face.

 

“And so easy to have right now.” McCree’s voice drops an octave. Hanzo can’t help but shiver.

 

“So I am.”

 

And with that, McCree closes the space between them with a heated kiss. Hanzo is initially taken by surprise, but reciprocates just as quickly. McCree bites at Hanzo’s lower lip, granting him access to the warm cavern of his mouth. Hanzo winces slightly, knowing that bite would cause a bruised lower lip in the morning. Tongues intermingle, and Hanzo relishes the tobacco-tinged, spiced, all-too-Southern flavor of McCree. A groan escapes both their throats, as Hanzo wraps his arms around McCree’s broad back, who in turn lets his hands roam down Hanzo’s body, reveling in the warmth of the archer.

 

“W-wait,” Hanzo stammers.

 

“Wanted to do this,” McCree breathes as he breaks free from Hanzo’s mouth to focus his attention on leaving angry marks on his neck. “Wanted to do this so bad. For so fuckin’ long.”

 

Hanzo shudders at the telltale suction that leaves red welts on his neck, enjoying the sensation. “I have noticed. But-”

 

“You get on my nerves so much, I don’t fuckin’ get it. You’re absolutely infuriating, you know that?” McCree parts from Hanzo’s neck, proud of his work, dilated pupils gazing at Hanzo longingly. The latter acquiesces, knowing McCree was a man on a mission and there was no going back.

 

“Mm, so what will you do about that?” Hanzo asks, ultimately choosing to go along with whatever was happening, mischievous glint all too evident in his eyes. McCree growls.

 

“’S that a challenge, sweetheart?” McCree unbuttons his flannel, tossing it to the side haphazardly. Hanzo gulps, drinking in the sight of a half-naked McCree. He wonders how his muscular arms would feel gripping his sides and holding him in place as he fucks him senseless- not that he had any sense in this moment at all in the first place, thanks to the quart of alcohol currently dissolving away from his system.

 

“Ah-“

 

“’Cause it sure as Hell sounds like a challenge to me.”

 

He leans in closer to Hanzo’s ear. Hanzo feels himself shake under McCree’s smoldering gaze.

 

“An’ you know how I feel ‘bout challenges, baby, now dontcha?”

 

McCree deftly unbuttons Hanzo’s jeans, and Hanzo tries to shimmy out by wiggling free from McCree’s body weight. But McCree keeps Hanzo in his face.

 

“Ah ah ah, sweetheart, you ain’t getting’ out of this easy,” McCree pins both of Hanzo’s arms above his head. “You wanted to see what I’mma do about this, so I’m showin’ you exactly what I’m gonna do.”

 

Hanzo gets goosebumps from all the sweet-talking McCree is putting him under. He almost doesn’t notice when he rocks his hips against Hanzo’s, but it’s hard to not notice such a powerful sensation. He moans, quickly catching himself by biting his lip to silence the sounds coming from his throat. McCree releases one arm to brush his thumb against Hanzo’s bottom lip, pulling on it slightly.

 

“C’mon baby, won’t you let me hear that pretty lil’ voice o’ yours?” McCree beckons. Hanzo’s breath hitches, immediately flaring up.

 

“Could you be any more crass- _ah_ ,” Another roll of the hips and Hanzo is reeling with pleasure, sinful moans spilling out, turning on McCree further. It’s like McCree knows the exact places to target, and the exact timing it takes for Hanzo to truly immerse himself in his happiness. Put simply, he had a lot more experience than Hanzo gave him credit for.

 

“Wanna see how crass I can get?” McCree teases, yanking on Hanzo’s pants to get it off.

 

“How can you say such embarrassing things out loud?” Hanzo questions McCree, genuinely puzzled by the cowboy’s lack of shame. McCree chuckles.

 

“That’s a matter of opinion right there.”

 

He lifts himself up a bit to get a better angle to palm the archer through his boxers, eliciting more moans and whimpers from the latter. He lowers himself down on Hanzo so that his lips are aligned with the head of Hanzo’s painful erection. He kisses the tip through the boxers, which earns him a frustrated groan. He rewards Hanzo by pulling his boxers down completely, throwing it somewhere onto a pile of discarded clothes. McCree is pleased to see that Hanzo is decently sized, his cock standing proudly against his abdomen, just begging for McCree to touch it, to please him.

 

And McCree was known to be a crowd pleaser.

 

Hanzo writhes under the grip of McCree’s strong hands, muttering something about McCree being a tease. The last thing he sees is McCree winking up at him before the he finally gives in and envelops Hanzo’s cock with the warm cavern of his mouth. Hanzo practically croons, throwing his head back as McCree goes down on him, managing to deepthroat him- had he no gag reflex?- and loses all sense of reality, just reels in the pleasure of being sucked dry by McCree’s experienced mouth.

 

“Fuck,” Hanzo breathes. How was McCree so good at what he did? He backtracks quickly, not wanting to envision McCree with other partners in bed while they were together. He instead chooses to focus on the sensation at hand. “M-Mc-“

 

McCree bobs his head up and down, making sloppy sounds as he deftly sucks the shorter man off, which only serves to turn Hanzo on even more. Hanzo throws his head back and gasps as his length hits the back of McCree’s throat, and a good majority of it encompassed by his velvety cavern, feeling warm and pleasured and in an overall state of bliss. Whatever McCree couldn’t fit in his mouth, he took into his fist, pumping at the same pace as he sucked.

 

Hanzo was so close- it hadn’t taken much to unwind him, especially considering he hadn’t at all been able to pay much attention to his own desires as of late. He’d been too preoccupied with other aspects of his life to be bothered with anything other than his immediate concerns, and he simply had no time for anything akin to relationships.

 

“McCree, I’m close-“

 

“Hold your horses,” McCree interrupts with a pop as he detaches from Hanzo. Hanzo will never admit to the small whine that escapes from his throat as McCree stops his magic.

 

“Don’ want this to end too early, right, sweetheart?” McCree smiles lazily as he undos his flashy belt buckle- Hanzo could never quite grasp what would motivate a man to wear an atrocious piece of accessory- and gauges Hanzo’s reaction to him pulling his belt away and unbuttoning his own pants.

 

“Matter of fact, why don’ we play a lil’ game?” McCree purrs, lewd suggestion sending more blood straight to Hanzo’s already thumping erection. “Since you’re always so Hell-bent on seein’ me lose.”

 

“And what manner of game would that be?” Hanzo asks.

 

“Let’s see between you an’ me, which of us can last longer in bed, shall we?” McCree grins. Hanzo balks.

 

“Must you always turn everything into a challenge, McCree?” he protests, feeling that it was unfair that he was already so stimulated but McCree was nowhere near as sensitive. But he is silenced quickly when McCree pulls his jeans down and tosses it somewhere in the room, revealing his massive bulge looking painfully constricted by his boxers. His eyes widen as McCree all but pounces on him, placing his hands on either side of Hanzo’s head, locking his gaze in place.

 

“Damn, I never took you for a quitter, Hanzo.” McCree mocks, licking his lips. “Thought you were, ah, ‘superior to me in every way’.”

 

Hanzo glares at McCree defiantly. “You know very well that I am.” He proceeds winds his arms around the cowboy to pull him in for a deep kiss. McCree responds favorably, tongue winding around Hanzo’s as little gasps and moans intermingle. The kiss gets even more heated when Hanzo grinds up against McCree’s erection, McCree rocking back and setting an impromptu pace for their little dry-hump session. McCree snarls, positively animalistic, reveling in the shocks of pleasure he gets from rubbing up against Hanzo’s own hardness. His eyes grow dark, consumed with lust, and he is happy to see that he is not the only one in such a state of arousal. Hanzo seems to be equally as heated, matching McCree’s quickening pace. He knows that if this continues, he will 100% finish without ever getting to go any further, and he has no qualms about it. McCree groans softly, and Hanzo takes that as a signal to stop rocking up against the bigger man, who glances at him quizzically, almost annoyed that they stopped.

 

“I hope you did not enjoy that too much. It was just a matter of, ah, how do you say it, evening the playing field.” Hanzo imitates McCree’s mocking tone from earlier. McCree’s expression turns dark.

 

“So you’re playin’ around now, huh?” His voice rumbles deep in the back of his throat, and it sounds as if he has decided on something. Hanzo gulps as McCree reaches across him to grab a bottle of lube and a packet of condoms from his bedside drawer. He secretly wonders why McCree has lube in the first place, and momentarily asks himself if it is worth concern.

 

“I believed that was the premise of this tryst, is it not?” Hanzo answers simply. McCree dumps a generous amount of lube onto his fingers and reaches down, circling Hanzo’s entrance teasingly.

 

“I don’ particularly like your tone of voice, sweetheart.” McCree mutters, his fingertips pressing against the hole slowly with more force. “But somethin’ tells me you ain’t gonna be cocky for much longer.”

 

Hanzo bites down on his lips, wrapping his arms tighter around McCree as the foreign objects enter his body. Granted, he was not a total stranger to the feeling, but it had been a long while since he had been able to divulge himself in any form of pleasures. It perplexed him, however, when people thought only Genji was the one who got to enjoy his youth- despite being the next in line for the throne, Hanzo had his fair share of sneaking out at night. He was not a total prude, contrary to popular belief.

 

But none of his midnight partners had ever come close to McCree’s size. For one, he mostly fooled around with women back in his day, but he had experienced enough men to know that McCree was not an average length- or perhaps the men he had fooled around with were simply smaller than average, because McCree was, by comparison, huge. Hanzo was now wondering just how he would fit inside him. He keeps wondering as McCree scissors his fingers inside him, widening his hole so that he could enter him with as little discomfort for Hanzo as possible. He could never get used to the strange feeling of having something inside, but McCree seemed to be trying his best. He could feel the finger and the exact amount of digits inserted- make that two fingers, and double the amount of digits. Hanzo shudders, fire in his stomach, as McCree’s fingers search their way through his cavern to find that sweet spot Hanzo has only ever experienced stimulation towards a couple of times in his life. McCree knows that he has found it when Hanzo moans suddenly, and presses the pads of his fingers upwards against the gland. He smiles triumphantly, relentlessly padding at Hanzo’s prostate, feeling Hanzo’s erection become harder and wetter by the second. But there was a time and place for everything, and while McCree would have loved to see Hanzo get off with just his fingers, he also _really_ wanted to fuck his brains out.

 

“Think you’re ready,” McCree mumbles breathlessly as he slowly takes his fingers out, digits slippery and oozing lubricant. Hanzo whines at the loss of heat and the feeling of being so full, but keeps his thoughts to himself, knowing that what was coming next would be even better. McCree slicks his own condom-encased length for good measure before he pushes Hanzo down, back to the pillows.

 

“Then get on with it.” Hanzo beckons. And who was McCree to deny him that pleasure?

 

It starts off slow and with a relatively burning sensation for Hanzo. McCree presses the tip of his erection into the hole he so generously abused, and even then it seemed to be a tight fit. Hanzo’s breath hitches as he grabs the pillows to ground himself, to make sense of the pain that is happening down there, to try and placate it as much as possible. McCree notices the obvious discomfort, and bends down to kiss Hanzo all over and soothe him, momentarily breaking his visage of a cocky asshole to check if he was okay.

 

“Shh, darlin’, you’re alright. You’re bein’ so good,” McCree says, accenting his words with kisses. “You’re bein’ so good for me.”

 

“Do not- ah, do not talk as if you think I cannot take this, McCree.” Hanzo replies, crooning into McCree’s kisses as he pushes in deeper.

 

“’M not.” McCree smirks. “I know you can take this, don’ disappoint me now.”

 

Hanzo moans as McCree pushes in further, burying himself deep inside of Hanzo.

 

“’Cause it’s all in now, hon, there ain’t no goin’ back from here.” McCree’s low voice gives Hanzo goosebumps. McCree pulls back a little bit before slamming back in relentlessly. He wasn’t kidding when he said there was no going back.

 

“You- better- brace- yourself- Hanzo.” McCree grunts each word as he slams in and out of the archer, who is reduced to loud, unabashed moans and yelps. Something about McCree saying his name during such an intimate moment makes Hanzo want to come and cry at the same time. The cowboy’s eyes are squeezed shut, teeth gritted in consternation, focusing on the pleasure Hanzo’s walls bring to his erection, and giving Hanzo the same amount of pleasure. The Shimada attempts to bite down on his hand to silence his cries, but McCree notices and takes his hand away.

 

“Don’t hide that pretty lil’ voice of yours, gorgeous, lemme hear you.” He notices how Hanzo stiffens up at his words, and grins wolfishly. He removes Hanzo’s hand from his face and pins it against the bed next to his head. He then shifts both hands to Hanzo’s hips, gripping it with such bruising force that Hanzo knows there will be marks tomorrow morning. But it does the job- it holds Hanzo in a perfect angle as McCree drives into him.

 

“Looks like someone’s- _hn-_ into this sweet-talkin’ o’ mine, aren’t ya, baby?” McCree sets something akin to that of a rhythm, eliciting raw cries from Hanzo’s throat. He knows he hit that sweet spot when Hanzo’s back arches even further, nails digging into McCree’s back- sure to leave scratches amongst the many scars from other events of his life. He repeatedly abuses that area, groaning and whispering sweet nothings into Hanzo’s ear all the while, the latter babbling nonsense, asking for more, asking for McCree to give him more, deeper, harder, faster.

 

Hanzo was never destined to last long. He knew that long before McCree even proposed the whole challenge. And he knew it was unfair, but it just felt so good. A few more hits to his prostate ensured his climax. Hanzo cries out, voice breaking as McCree pushes him over the edge as he comes. Ribbons of cum splash onto McCree’s stomach, and his own chest. He rides out his climax thanks to McCree’s unrelenting pace- the man doesn’t seem to care that Hanzo is overstimulated, because every second, McCree pumps inside and back out. It takes him a longer time to come, but when he finally does, he does so with a strangled growl, pushing balls deep inside of Hanzo’s wonderful warmth. He feels accomplished, barely registering that he won the little competition he proposed not so long ago.

 

“Hanzo, Hanzo, Hanzo,” McCree breathes into the crook of Hanzo’s neck, repeating his name like a mantra. He pulls out slowly, subsequently collapsing on top of Hanzo, who is too tired to put up a protest but nonetheless feels the massive weight of McCree cutting off his circulation.

 

“You are heavy,” he manages to gasp with a hint of distaste evident in his tone, despite himself. McCree hums.

 

“You weren’t complainin’ before,” McCree shrugs before rolling off Hanzo, plopping right down next to him. Hanzo sighs, cuddling into McCree unconsciously. McCree, initially surprised at the rare form of affection, accepts Hanzo and outstretches his arm for Hanzo to rest his head on. He places his chin on top of Hanzo’s head, hair sticky with sweat.

 

“Mm.” Hanzo closes his eyes, and McCree allows himself to drift off to sleep, knowing he’d probably have to nurse a hungover Hanzo in the morning. But for now, he’d let himself sleep with Hanzo in his arms. It wasn’t the worst situation.

 

X

 

Breakfast brings an awkward silence, as Hanzo nurses his glass of orange juice, splitting headache plaguing him. Not only does his head hurt, his hips had been aching ever since he woke up- his lower region was a land of pain. It wasn’t a secret, either- his hips were sprinkled with bruises, and his neck looked positively mauled. He had never felt closer to death, and he’s had missions where he got shot right through the legs. He hasn’t thrown up yet, but he knows one wrong movement and he would empty all the contents of his stomach. Hangovers were the worst, and it wasn’t fair how McCree was completely fine, especially after he drank more than Hanzo had. He groans, massaging his temples, eyes raw and stinging. McCree is right by his side, massaging his shoulders methodically, almost apologetically.

 

“So…” he begins.

 

“What.” Hanzo deadpans.

 

“’M not gonna ask you if you’re okay, but ‘m sorry for goin’ overboard. Won’ be as bad next time, swear on Peacekeeper.” McCree offers a smile of peace, to which Hanzo glares at him for.

 

“Who says there will be a ‘next time’?” he grimaces. McCree rests his face on his hand, smiling.

 

“Come on, you can’t say I didn’ rock your world last night.”

 

“Ah, there it is, that misplaced overconfidence. Know your place, McCree.”

 

“I know where my place is- right next to you.” McCree says. Hanzo cringes at the cheesy line.

 

“I truly do not understand how on Earth you say such embarrassing things with no sense of shame.” He rolls his eyes. McCree leans in, face dangerously close to Hanzo’s own.

 

“I mean, you really liked it in bed, though.” He retorts. Hanzo is about to come up with a clever comeback, when he is interrupted by a shrill groan of disgust.

 

“Can you two old men stop flirting so early in the morning? It’s too early.” Hana pleads, looking disheveled. Her eyes are still puffy, a clear indication that she just woke up. She is followed by Lúcio and Genji.

 

“And maybe keep your volume down at 3 in the moment while you’re at it,” Lúcio offers as kindly as he can. “Some of us don’t drink quite enough to black out, you know.”

 

Hanzo groans and slumps his face into his arms. McCree can only give a sheepish grin at the younger members of Overwatch, feeling more apologetic by the second.

 

“ _Anija_ , I highly recommend Doctor Ziegler’s concealer for your neck.” Genji suggests casually as he throws an English muffin into the toaster. Hana and Lúcio snicker as they pour cereal into their bowls, clearly deriving pleasure from Hanzo’s misery.

 

“Jesse?” Hanzo’s words come out muffled from his buried face.

 

“Mhm?”

 

“I hate you.”

**Author's Note:**

> pls accept this offering of pure smut as an apology for not updating Inside You
> 
> GET REKT HANZO
> 
> Alternate Ending as told by my bestie Erain: He was so upset that he lost the challenge that he immediately yelled, “again!”  
> McCree was all pooped out and honestly surprised that Hanzo could even take more of his big meaty cock but he wasn’t one to back down from a sexy beast like Hanzo. He pulled off his condom and cleaned up his wet dripping cock and opened a new packet. Hanzo grabbed it out of his hands and said, “not this time ;) we goin rawwwwww” McCree felt his dick grow a little at the sound of that. He pulled Hanzos arm and turned him around so that he was bent over and his ass was pointing up. McCree pause for a moment and bit his lip at the marvelous sight. Hanzo got worried at the hesitation and asked, “w-what’s wrong?” He started feeling insecure in that moment. McCree chuckled, “No, it’s just.. you’re so fucking hot.” Just as he said that, McCree thrust his hot steaming rod right up Hanzos butt.


End file.
